Beyond the Field
by Listening to trees
Summary: Relieved momentarily of American football and placed in the wider picture of their daily lives, relationships built on the sport are examined under a different lens. A series of ficlets and oneshots for various yaoi pairings, respective summaries and ratings inside. (Pairings currently available: BanbaxHarao, TetsumaxMonta, IkarixJuumonji)
1. Mouse in the Corn Crib (Various)

**Title: Mouse in the Corn Crib, Horse in the Hay**

**Rating: PG**

**Genre: Fluff, humour.**

**Summary: Suzuna in her element; or the ultimate cookery sensei mode.**

**Disclaimer: All foodstuffs and athletes were not harmed in the production of this fanfic.**

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**Written for White Day**. Apologies for its unbeta'ed state, and if I got any of Suzuna's nicknames for the characters wrong. I had to invent most of them since I read the series in Chinese and couldn't find the English equivalents. (*Please ignore the technicalities in making chocolate too*)

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"Ah; the consistency is all wrong! This won't do at all!"

"My apologies, sensei."

"It's all right, Banba-chan, but I'm afraid you'll have to start a new batch. Remember; less force, more love!" And the hulk of a man inclined his head obediently as the miniscule cheerleader continued down the row.

"Ya! You're adding waayyy too much sugar; Kakkei-chin! " _He _had the nerve to quirk his eyebrow back at _her_; as if pouring in close to half a cup of the sweet stuff was the most natural thing to do. Hmph!

Then she remembered the data on the tastes of his partner.

"….Never mind." Far be it on her head if he managed to hype up his already exhaustingly energetic boyfriend.

And the pint-sized Stella-Parks-in-the-making marched on.

Somewhere further ahead, Seibu's star quarterback observed the proceedings with lazily opened eyes as he picked up the bottle of banana flavouring. "Yare, yare. That lady is one tough teacher, isn't she?"

Takami nodded from beside him, adjusting his glasses –_after _wiping his sticky digits. "I suppose. But strict discipline and a demand for perfection are precisely what'll make this class successful, aren't they?"

"Fuu," Akaba agreed. "Only a beat like that will produce good chocolate."

"Speaking of which, what are you doing here?" It was common knowledge that the closest thing the tight-end ever received to reciprocation from the object of his fanatical pursuits had been extra harassment.

"Fuu," The inquired smiled; not the least bit frazzled. "Such details do not matter when one receives kicks delivered with such heartfelt rhythm." With that he reached over the counter for a clean spoon, in a discreet shift of the hips that reminded him of the battered comb in his pocket.

"Forget that! Why is _he_ even here? He's still oni single!" The last occupant at their work surface exclaimed; gesturing to the initiator of the conversation. His chocolate was turning out just fine; but then, Unsui's favourite had been characteristically simple.

The hatted man shrugged. "Guilty as charged. Tetsuma took the coach too literally again this morning; but refused to stay in bed unless he had something to give Raimon-kun. And I happened to be free tonight, so…"

"No, STOP; SHIN-SAN! You're using the HAND-WHISK, THE HAND WHISK! And Sena likes his almonds chopped, not powdered!"

Cue all footballers pausing in their beating and measuring to watch the spectacle (save Banba, who now disliked raisins with a passion). "We're not getting any help next year, are we."

"Fuu."

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(Owari)

**Stella Parks- **a famous pastry chef

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What do you think, ladies and gentlemen? ;P Is it OOC in any way?

Also, there'll be a sneak preview of future chapters if you can guess all the pairings correctly! And if you don't mind, please help me improve my writing by voting on my profile; for those of you who've read at least 3 of my stories! Thanks. :)


	2. Napoleon (BanbaxHarao)

Dunn, dunn, dunnnnn! That was an easy one wasn't it? ;D So let's have another installment in celebration before I upload the promised info for future fics!

Story rating goes up to M from now on.

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**Title: Napoleon (Yeah, a little lame; but couldn't find something to add a nice ring to it. Mind suggesting an edit?)**

**Rating: NC-17 for sexual implications **

**Genre: Introspective, gen**

**Summary: Sweet lessons in remembrance. Harao's POV.**

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At five foot ten, Kishinari was tall.

Well; perhaps not Takami Ichiro-tall, but a few centimetres above Akaba Hayato. Towering enough to never have been bullied; statuesque enough to carry off a two-piece suit like a Zegna model (a very _beautiful_ Zegna model); lanky enough to always be prime choice during PE basketball sessions in middle school.

Nevertheless, he had always been acutely aware of how he was dwarfed and outsized by his teammates. They were the heaviest assembly of linemen in Japan after all; and those impressive stats in strength were often matched by equally intimidating physical heights (Kasamatsu notwithstanding). There had been frustration, and the odd insecurity that stank of more weights and protein drinks before he came to accept himself. Being smaller made it easier to be a quarterback, made him a faster and smaller target. Even if he was physically weaker, he had his ways to shine, contribute; and the ladies liked him just as how he was anyway.

Besides, he was still tall. Unfortunately slim, but tall. Even as he was constantly shadowed by his comrade-turned-friends, there were many more he had to dip his chin and spine for.

[And a monster that lowered _his_ granite jaw for him. While demolishing his team and their dreams. But that was then; a passing nightmare. Regret, a moment of weakness and an anguish he will not taste again.]

So he has forgotten, really. How slender he could be, nestled between a powerful torso and the crook of a bulging, protective forearm. How frail his wrists seem, pinned by brutally-hewn but feather-gentle hands. How prey-like he can feel, under a lust-fevered, devoted gaze. How utterly _helpless_ he is; ignorance impaled and dead on a wonderfully, achingly massive and feral manhood.

And there's nowhere else he wants to be.

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**Note:**

**Zegna- **a fashion brand

**PE- **physical education

**Title-** comes from the** Napoleon complex**, a condition in which the subject suffers from an inferiority complex due to perceived shortness in stature and attempts to acquire greater power, status or wealth to compensate for this deficit. It is said to affect men in particular and takes its name after Napoleon Bonaparte.

However, historians have proposed that **Napoleon's legendary shortness is most likely a myth**, and he was estimated to have been above the average height for a French man back then. The illusion of shortness was because of his constant accompaniment by Imperial Guards, who were all exceptionally tall as part of the prerequisite for the occupation. Most notably, the existence of this condition is not acknowledged by the American Psychiatric Association.


	3. Monta's Seven Things (TetsumaxMonta)

**Title: Monta's Seven Things to Do with Jou-senpai (or A Semi-diary Entry on the Life and Love****s**** of Raimon Tarou)**

**Rating: NC-17 for sexual implications**

**Genre: Fluff, CRACK**

**Summary: Because it's max! important to write a list for all the important things!**

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1. PRACTICE-CATCH-MAX!XDDDDD

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2. Thank him for the flowers. And find out what keeps him max! giving them. Kaa-san likes them very much, but one more bunch and I'll have to sleep outside.

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3. Remember to NEVER, EVER, EVERRR, yell "Harder MAX!" when doing th-the….wh-wh-whatever. You know what I mean! Anyway. **MAX **never again. (HIRUMA-SENPAI'S RUBBER BULLETS MUKKKKIIIIII~~~) [*stops at this point to slap-squish own face]

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4. Introduce him to bananas. Ba-banana parfaits! (*blushes) Yup. Parfaits. Bananas are max delicious after all! And max nutritious. Even in parfaits.

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5. GO VISIT HONJJJOOOUUUU-SAAA [*writing becomes illegible]

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6. Must MAX remember to take him home to meet mom next Saturday. (*shudders)

SCARY MAX! (Suzuna, your ideas had better work…)

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7. Go cheer him on the Gunman's game this week! :D (Ne, Mamori-san, why these shorts…..?) (And only after the win too… :-/?)

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(*Owari)

(*laughs evilly) Oh Monta, you are so _surrounded _by yaoi fangirls! XD (And he's oblivious; poor thing)

So, about that **sneak peek** I was promising! Sorry it took so long; been tired and all. (Please note that the phrasing of the words below are subject to change.)

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1. **TakamixSakuraba**

Title: Surprise Catch

"Of course not. You look just fine."

A sigh. " You can be too nice at times, Takami-senpai."

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2. **IkarixJuumonji**

(Untitled)

Summary: On that day, his chains had a different purpose.

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3. **GaouxMarco**

Title: Cub

Summary: None of the amefuto players present that day would ever forget their introduction to her.

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**Other pairings** possibly in the works: KakeixMizumachi, OhiraxOnishi, HomerxWyatt, HirumaxRui, MusashixYukimitsu

Hope reading this fic was as good as writing it was for me! Until next time. ;)


	4. Feminity or the Lack (IkarixJuumonji)

So I was digging through my older projects, and I found this! Bonus ficlet everyone! Written last semester actually; but somehow it'd got lost in the humongous pile.

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**Title: Femininity (or The Lack Thereof, ORA!) **

**Rating: PG-15 for implied smex**

**Genre: Gen, humor (?)**

**Warning: Potential OOCness.**

**Summary: Ikari's take on a certain lineman.**

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Beta: EudaimonArisornae

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For the record, Daigo does _not _think Kazuki resembled anything remotely feminine. Confident, scarred, gruff and muscular, the Deimon footballer oozed hardcore masculinity through and through.

Still, it's the word 'butterfly' that butts into his mind as he follows the nearly-transparent eyelashes, which vibrate whenever the other's afternoon dreams are disturbed. And for all the calluses and protruding veins are worth, they do not hide the neatly trimmed nails and long, oddly graceful fingers from his eyes. He finds himself fascinated, not needing to excuse the….pastel, relaxed mouth on a Kazuki deep in thought. Nor does he mind the apparent semi-hairlessness, thanks to maternal genes, on his arms and legs that would have been the envy of most women.

He also keeps it to himself as he glances one lazy day over their messily-piled homework, at the neat script that is more than a shadow of Wakana's. Though he can and will certainly assert that the man's coffee-brewing skills are far more tolerable than the petite manager's. (Which is not saying that coffee brewed by Ojo's girls shouldn't be number one, ORA!)

(*even if he has to drink it till his face turns blue)

For Daigo is smart enough to figure (after the first twenty times) that such perfectly harmless things were best left unchallenged. (That, and he has no desire to spend their few, free nights in between, chained and dumped on a hard couch minus a warm, naked and worn-out body-warmer.) And nothing, absolutely _nothing_ would make him insult Kazuki by not fighting him to his last breath on the field, he will not have his equal believe that.

So what if he's getting suspiciously fixated on massaging those nice-looking knuckles afterwards? Or likes to finger that barely-there, extra curvy dip above his hips' strong unyielding contours? Kazuki does not need to know; at least until, as Takami-senpai advises him, his fellow lineman no longer feels embarrassed or uncomfortable.

He can wait. Because he wants _all_ of Kazuki, secrets included, to be the sole property of Ikari Daigo.

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(Owari)

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A/N:

And wouldn't you like to be there when dear ol' Takami-senpai was obliged to dispense the love advice? ;P He must've been wondering what he'd done to warrant this (and thanking the stars that Haruto, at least, was more normal *sans the rabid fans, cough*)

Was it ok? I hope it wasn't too fluffy. This is also told from a **narrator's POV**, **describing Ikari's inner workings** (sort of like how his backstory prior to joining the Ojo White Knights was presented).


	5. In the Beginning (IkarixJuumonji)

Getting awfully busy right now with the piling assignments and upcoming special feature I'm crunching out for another series; but here's another piece of IkarixJuumonji (improved; I think) in between!

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**Title: At First (or Four Hundred and Seventy Words into the Mind of Ikari)**

**Genre: CRACK, pre-relationship**

**Rating: NC-17 for swearing and a few graphic sexual details**

**Summary: Because he's just **_**that **_**moronic.**

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Beta: EudaimonArisornae

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At first, it's just the kick of getting this guy in particular to bottom.

That intimidating frame; the strength he'd been on the receiving end of in many a play. The way those eyes commanded a respectful distance from any hooligan with the sense, lit as they were with an inherent toughness. Having that raspy, rumbling voice cut off in unnatural breaks; muttering desperately in sounds and tones that would've usually embarrassed its owner. Fuck, it did unspeakable _things _to Daigo. He'd grow hard sometimes just watching Juumonji stretch; running his gaze over that ass and those large, powerful thighs as they jogged. Once, his cock just started leaking when he'd managed to get this real good whiff off the other boy's shirt while picking up their washed stuff after practice, and there was nothing that got him going like pressing his clothed and restrained prick between those plump cheeks. Bottom line was, nearly everything about his rival-slash-fuck-buddy's physique drove Daigo hard and hot (or harder and hotter; while being squeezed inside a cutely writhing, virgin-tight canal. Best. Fucking. Feeling. In the Damn World.)

'sides, he was pretty cool to hang out with. Not just because he made a badass linebacker (_almost _as badass as one of Oujou's); and had a code of honour and respect for their sport. Guy was bloody sick at a lot of things off the field too, like whipping up a mean okonomiyaki. And _Maths._ Who woulda thunk? Apparently, the reason why he'd pwned Daigo twenty times over at 40K, DoW was 'cause that noggin knew some strategy _theories_. Shit.

Yep. Juumonji might be the bottom, but he'd be seriously tarring his own manliness if he ever thought of him as a bitch.

…Though, in truth, _Daigo_ might just turn out to bethe bitch_. _

Because Juumonji sure as hell didn't have these weird, girly thoughts and feelings. Like how he'd been wanting to stay, and maybe, just _maybe, _hug the man after sex; all fuckin' night. Or the time he had to clamp his own mouth shut to stop himself from telling Juumonji to put his number on speed-dial. And the random need he had to rip the arms off anyone who dared sling them over the Deimon high-schooler's shoulders; 'specially that stupid pervert from Kyoshin who kept streaking in front of everybody. Plus those crazy, sudden urges he got to kiss him–_without _wanting to screw him! Just, what the fuck?!

….Or did he? Was it possible for Juumonji to have these thoughts too? And if he did, what did that mean?

(OH FUCK, HE WASN'T PASSING SOME DEADLY DISEASE OVER TO THE DUDE, WAS HE?)

(And all the while, Juumonji smirked, waiting for the furiously-thinking idiot to figure it out–with maybe the tiniest hint of red on his cheeks.)

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(Owari)

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**Notes:**

1.** 40K, DoW **–shorthand for the game 'Warhammer 40K: Dawn of War'.

2.** Okonomiyaki **–Japanese savoury pancake.


	6. There's Always A First (IkarixJuumonji)

**Title: There's Always a First (IkarixJuumonji)**

**Rating: PG-15 for swearing and mild mentions of smex**

**Genre: Humor, romance, fluff **(but I SWEAR, this is as far from OOC as I can make it)

**Summary: For everything. Juumonji's POV, and the priceless in the ordinary.**

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Beta: EudaimonArisornae (but I still haven't corrected everything as per her suggestions yet...)

This is for you, **rexroy101**. Thank you for the lovely review and support. :)

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The first time they did it, it fucking _hurt._

And Juumonji found himself wanting to punch the heavy, confused oaf on top of him, if he could just stop concentrating on chewing his lip bloody and breathing first. More than that, he wanted to punch _himself_, because just how in the blazes had he imagined this to be pleasurable? He was going to sue the entire gay porn industry for selling him this fake fantasy; that stuff about guys with more sensitive nipples being better bottoms had to be pure shit too.

_Fuck. First things first. BREATHE._

Then maybe he could berate this rough, senseless prick for shoving it all the way in. And bash his face too if he dared use any word that even sounded close to 'bitch'.

Speaking of which, wasn't the usually loud, hyper idiot just a little too quiet?

The Deimon lineman opened his eyes –only to be greeted by another pair that was _way_ too close.

…A pair of eyes that said their owner didn't know what to do.

Bastard was utterly _clueless_! Couldn't even ask if he was okay; Kami. Totally, fucking, _tactless._

(And yet he didn't bother to hide his concern.)

Juumonji sighed heavily through his nose. Good news was, his ass didn't feel like it was gonna rip anymore. So he slapped the darker butt on top, which jumped; and grunted, "Move."

(He soon forgot why he was complaining to begin with.)

(But remembered the very next morning.)

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Staring.

He was definitely staring.

It was with a mixture of amusement and exasperation that Juumonji observed the animalistic eyes following his tightly-clad hips–and not Deimon's new trick plays, which all the Oujou White Knights had come purposely to absorb.

Not that he was complaining. On the field, Ikari was still his enemy, and every chance they gained from hoarding their tactics was welcome. But still! This wasn't the way he'd hoped they'd get it. Not to mention Hiruma, always too scarily astute beyond human limits, was still here and could catch on any minute. Damn demon had (unsurprisingly) "persuaded" the principal into giving him and the rest of the seniors another shot at the Christmas Bowl.

A jolt of relief entered his adrenaline-wired system as he saw Sakuraba bend over and talk to his instantly flustered junior–with what appeared to be a long-suffering sigh. It had been too much to hope for, that they could keep it under wraps forever, but at least the only other one in the loop was also that one other gay on Oujou's team (Takami, his partner, had graduated).

Then the signal for the start of the second half sounded, and Juumonji's mind snapped reflexively into combat, brooding on the subject no more.

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He'd never pegged Ikari as the romantic type, so he was really taken aback when the bouquet was shoved into his face.

(They were _roses_. He was darn lucky the thorns hadn't stabbed his face or eyes; the idiot.)

Seriously though, it would've been a whole lot better if the other man had bought him dinner instead, or some action flick. Instead, he got something that he'd have to hide once he got home, something that would probably die very soon and sprout mould, stinking up his bedroom.

But maybe, maybe something about the way it hinted that he wasn't just one of the guys that made him grudgingly accept it.

(And grin like a barmy retard later while looking at them, when there was no one else around to see it–_especially_ Ikari Daigo.)

(Till he caught sight of himself in the mirror, and groaned.)

(They were _both_ fucking stupid.)

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"I still can't believe we're doing this," Ikari grumbled, sitting down and crossing his legs.

"Then you better believe it," Juumonji growled. "An F? _Five _Fs?! What the fuck, man! I know Oujou is an escalator school, but you gotta have more brains than this!"

"ORA! Are you insulting Oujou?!"

"No, you moron, I'm insulting _you. _Now read this. We're starting with History today before moving on to English."

The white-haired lineman cursed some more and picked up the paper. "Fuck, shouldn't have chosen Mortal Kombat if I knew you were going to pwn me at it."

"You could've picked any game in the centre and I'd _still_ win our bet. I play regularly against _Kuroki_, for God's sake."

"…so?"

"You heard of Konami's Arcade Championship?"

"Yeah. Don't tell me…"

"He's been aiming for top spot for years. Last time he went at it, he made it into the finals. Got beat before he could represent Kanto, but was still listed in the top 20s."

"….shit." "Got that right. Now start reading the damn sheet."

That didn't stop Ikari from whining, but well, so long as he obeyed.

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"Not bad," Ikari beamed, hand coursing through the altered bristles. "You actually look badass now."

Juumonji swatted his wrist away from his head and frowned. "Did you just suggest I wasn't manly before?"

Like a child, the Oujou footballer sensed the fight, and his grin turned feral. "Maybe."

"I'll kill you, bastard."

(Somehow the play-fighting became half-real, and Ikari ended up sporting a busted lip for his cheek–which Juumonji swooped in to peck swiftly after he'd applied the iodine, even though the medicinal taste grossed him out.)

(And Ikari smiled, even though the contact and the very act of stretching his wound hurt.)

(Certainly Juumonji did not miss the way his gaze had been boiling with approving heat.)

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They were making out in the back of Oujou's club room after their teams' co-practice match, Juumonji's consciousness lost between teeth, lips and the sandy coarseness of the palms on him, when a squeak and the sight of dreadfully familiar spiky brown hair sent him crashing down to reality.

Then it was just panic, _panic_–because he wasn't ready, not here, not now; he'd _never _wanted the whole world to come knocking on his secret like this–that made him lash out at Ikari–who dodged and cursed–before breaking into a dead run through the door.

That summer training camp must've boosted his stamina real good; they were already a-ways outside Oujou when Ikari'd finally caught his shoulder and didn't let go. Then it was a question of who stopped panting first; Ikari did–but then Juumonji started shouting.

About why he just couldn't keep his fucking hands to himself; how they were just so _screwed_, _fuck_; he didn't _want_ to be kicked out of school or off his team; Kami, how he wished–if only–

"DON'T YOU FUCKING _DARE_!"

It was not the anger or volume in that roar that caught his attention–he'd heard those a thousand times–but the edge of ragged _fear_ in Ikari's voice that brought him back to earth.

And he blinked, and finally saw the other male's face. Blindly furious, it was as fearsome as all the hearsay surrounding him had described; radiating power and aggression–but what struck him was that split-second flit of desperation.

That's when the cramped feeling on his own chest started to disappear.

When they returned, Sena, being Sena, was waiting at the gates and doubly relieved; then blushing and unable to meet their eyes. It was excruciatingly awkward for all three of them, but the smaller boy still managed to stammer firmly that they had his full understanding and support (yes, e-even if they h-had to face down Hi-Hiruma).

(And oh Kami did he just say something extremely _scary_?)

Juumonji just had to smile, okay, _fondly_, at this point, at this little lion-mouse who sometimes showed more courage than him, than anyone he's ever known.

(And every time afterwards when Ikari "happened to be passing" Deimon, Sena would smile watching the two of them while Monta stared at him confusedly, and Hiruma…)

(Hiruma just rolled his eyes at everything.)

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"Wow," Juumonji said half-dazedly, studying Ikari's academic reports. He knew he had been tutoring his rival-slash-(…_something_) for about four months now, but just, wow.

"Told 'ja," the tanner high-schooler stated, very smugly, joining his fingers together above his head. "I can be pretty damn smart too if I feel like it."

"And pretty damn hot-tempered," Juumonji retorted. "If you hadn't gotten suspended so many times for fighting, I'll bet we didn't even have to resort to this."

"And you luuuurrrvvvve me anyway," Ikari cackled. Somehow, somehow, Juumonji could tell it wasn't a joke, not really; and that something monumental had just happened, so he doesn't punch the clown that hard in protest.

They went for semi-classy pizza instead of the usual fast food, train bento or roadside ramen to celebrate, and Juumonji let Ikari do him over the kitchen table, behind drawn blinds, before taking the lead in the shower.

So he was sleepy and full, completely at peace, when he rolled over and looked at Ikari's back, at the way the thrift-store pyjamas underlined his broad shoulders. And suddenly, absolutely sure the other's asleep, for no reason whatsoever, he muttered "Me too," before his eyes closed.

(And maybe Ikari wasn't really all that dead to the world then, because there's something particularly sharp and crazy about his smile the next day, the next _week._)

(Juumonji, of course, was bloody _mortified_, but it was too late; too late.)

(And Ikari knew he knew, but just smirked, and they said nothing.)

(The silence said everything.)

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[end]

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Notes:

1. In my **headcanon**, **Musashi**,** Hiruma**,** Yukimitsu **and **Kurita **all** continued playing football into their third year**; so their farewell ceremony in the photos shown for the final chapter actually happened during the end of their third year.

(They still pass their final exams anyway because Yukimitsu is a book maniac, Hiruma is a genius, Mushashi isn't dim either, and both he and Kurita had help from Mamori and the first two.)

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2. "**F"** (also a "fuka"): the only fail or unacceptable grade in the Japanese academic grading system. Its corresponding percentage is 0-49%.

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3. An** escalator school:** a high school affiliated to a university, where all its high-schoolers will gain immediate admission regardless of academic performance. Oujou High School's status as an escalator school was mentioned in the manga (in fact, this is how Otawara continued his tertiary education.) [*self brain goes bam]

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4.** Kuroki's talent in arcade games**: mentioned in the manga (but his participation in the Konami Arcade Championship is my own invention)

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5.** Konami Arcade Championship**/ KAC: An actual, real-life games tournament held annually by Japanese gaming company Konami.

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6.** Ikari's academic improvement**: in my headcanon, he's not actually stupid, but of average intelligence. Instead, the reason why he behaves so moronically is because of his hot temper and tendency to do things before thinking properly. So he's sort of like Juumonji, but with lower EQ and IQ…. (or maybe more like Kuroki)


	7. Work and Play (IkarixJuumonji)

**Sorry!~~~** T_T I swear, both the** Musashi x Yukimitsu and Takami x Sakuraba ficlets are in progress, **and** the Gaou x Marco one is all but done;** it's just, I churn out stuff faster for Ikari x Juumonji you know?

'Cause they're my Eyeshield 21 OTP. (*is shot*)

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**Title: Work and Play**

**Genre: lime, WAFFS (i.e. warm and fluffy shit)**

**Rating: NC-17 for short but graphic imagery **

**Warning: Ikari + mild KINK. Half-sleepy writing.**

**Summary: Shouldn't be mixed. But sometimes that yields better results than imagined.**

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Beta: EudaimonArisornae

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The first and last time they involved Amefuto in their sex life, every single intention of Juumonji's had backfired.

The most innocent and mourned of which had been convincing his knowing teammates that the both of them could go at it on the gridiron without holding back, no sweat. Juumonji had gotten used to tuning out distractions by now–the chants and jeers of the crowd, the taunts of some opposing players–but nothing quite resembled the full-body, fizzing embarrassment of realising he was _losing_ when his ass was at stake–literally.

Of course, he had expected the incentive to enhance both their performances–he himself had pushed his limits even harder out of excitement and anticipation–but this was _insane_. It was as if a Shin Seijuro clone had been let loose on the field, strength-wise. (In terms of intelligence though, Ikari was the same as ever. Thank God.)

If there was any bright side to this madness, it was that he hadn't thought this up back when _Hiruma _was still captain. Being wary of the blond devil could not guarantee absolute good behaviour in the ex-delinquent.

As such, he got away with a guilt-inducing look of disappointment in Sena's eyes and a promise not to repeat. His two best mates though, had demanded free lunches as recompense for the "psychological damage"–for one whole fucking _week._ Why was he buds with these leeches again?

So he wasn't even close to being in the mood–not within fifty yards of it–when he received Ikari's text. But a promise was a promise, and it wasn't ideal for two hot-headed dudes to talk things out over the phone, so he'd responded and let himself into the Oujou lineman's apartment–fully intending to convince Ikari that he'd fulfil their bet another day–when the words plugged up his throat.

The white-haired fighter cocked his left knee and grinned. "So. Whaddya think?"

Think? His first imperative at the moment was to _exhale_. He'd always known the other high-schooler would rock leather but hot _damn_. With the way the clingfilm-tight blackness cut across from under his sharp hipbones and coated the mouth-watering shape of his bulge, this beat even his most vivid dreams.

It didn't help either that evenly-applied oil focused what dim light there was on his defined nipples, abdominals and collarbone. A few leather straps also stoppered his biceps and thighs at the exact points that further brought his masculinity to attention, completing a blood-boiling visage.

So it was going to be one of their mutual kinks they'd discussed.

Or Juumonji's take on it. Ikari's didn't feature any straps–said they were too chafing–as far as he could remember.

Something irritating scrapped the inside of his chest, prompting a momentary tensing of jaw muscles. "It was your win you know," he simply stated.

The darker male shrugged. "Same diff. 'sides," there was that leery smirk, "What I like best is you screaming and shoving yer ass onto me like you'd die without my dick. Mother of all turn-ons."

He had to be flushing right now. "Shut up. Pervert," he growled. And because Ikari was wearing no shirt, his hand latched onto the back of the guy's head instead as he pulled him in for what had to be the sloppiest, sappiest kiss ever.

* * *

(Owari)

* * *

(*because author is a cockblocking troll)


End file.
